


James Kirk is a Marvel

by himitsutsubasa



Category: Battle Creek (TV)
Genre: Bucky Barnes - Freeform, Children, Coffee, Interns & Internships, M/M, Marvel Comics - Freeform, Star Trek - Freeform, Time Travel, steve rogers - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-29 21:16:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3911002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/himitsutsubasa/pseuds/himitsutsubasa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is an intern and Milt doesn't like it until he does. Russ liked it from the start and begrudgingly continued to like it even after it decided to turn his world upside down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	James Kirk is a Marvel

**Author's Note:**

> If Holly knew the consequences of her going to UChi, she would have stayed to watch the hilarity unfold. 
> 
> But she didn't, so she doesn't.

Milt strolled into the department and without so much as pausing, swiveled into a beeline for Russ’s desk, where the detective had his feet kicked up as he looked over the contents of a manila folder that looked like it had seen better days. Milt’s trajectory led him about a foot away from the swing radius of Russ’s feet, the man having swiped one of his shoes over Milt’s pants leg, making the elderly woman at the dry cleaners curse at him in German before taking the suit and cleaning the hell out of that thing.

Which promptly got shot to bits when Milt had to loan it to a dummy of himself for an operation. Lovely. 

Mrs. Hertz had given him one stern and motherly look before politely binning the whole damn thing. 

Milt stopped, just the perfect distance away, and put a smile on his face. “Who’s the fellow at Holly’s desk?”

“The intern.”

Russ didn’t even glance up and Milt had to admit that even after the months of work they had together, he still felt little burst of joy when the man didn’t treat him like a precious gift. Which he was. No denying the truth. But, it was refreshing to be treated with the same disdain that Russ showed almost everyone. 

Milt paused before saying, “Because Holly left.”

“Because Holly left,” Russ affirmed, flipping through the file. The red pen Russ was chewing left his mouth for a moment to make a few marks on the page, and then promptly went right back to making Milt imagine dirty, dirty thoughts.

“The University of Chicago is a good school,” Milt remarked, trying not to focus not the way Russ absentmindedly hollowed his cheeks around the end of the pen. 

Russ swung his legs off the chair, looking up at Milt, legs spread wide open like some sort of invitation. “It’s a fucking fantastic school. I’m proud of our girl.”

A small snickering noise erupted from the intern.

Russ swung around, tossing a crumpled post-it at the kid. “Stop going on tumblr and get back to work.”

The kid tossed the paper back, hitting Russ squarely in the chest. “Sure, dad.”

The kid pulled a clunky pair of Beats over his ears, effectively blocking out all of them.

Russ ruffling his hands through this kid’s hair or trying to best this kid in Mario Cart was an image that couldn’t leave Milt standing. Russ would be an unorthodox father, but a stunningly good one. He would be the kind of father who was loving and patient and suspicious of all things, but still steadfast in his belief in his son. Also, Russ would be great at sarcastic dad jokes. He would drive any kid of his insane and Milt was stunned by an image of Russ chasing a boy around a house filled with light and laughter.

A small effervescent flutter bubbled up in his chest, forcing its way past his lips, and Milt chuckled.

Russ swiveled his chair to face Milt, brow raised. “Oh, oh really?”

Milt shrugged, perfect angelic smile on his face. “You could be his father.”

If Milt was lucky, he would be able to see Russ rolling around in the grass with a five year old. Not that that was likely to ever happen, but that would be perfect.

Russ sniffed. “I hope not. He looks more like your kid than anything.”

“Actually… He looks like Holly.” Font put his hands up in mock surrender. “Just saying.”

Russ rolled his eyes, waving a hand. “Shut up, Font. Can’t you see those clothes? Totally Milt.”

Milt glanced over and, well, there was a bit of him in that he supposed. A button up shirt and a vest were more fancy than anything anyone in the precinct would wear to work. It wasn’t bespoke, but the shirt hung well on the kid’s frame and Milt could see where they got the idea that the kid was his.

He tilted his head, peering at the kid. The build was nothing like Holly, too tall and lithe, but the hair was reddish, more red than his gold undertones, and slightly curled. The boy’s eyes, though hazel, where large and round, widening and narrowing with the kid’s varying levels of concentration.

“He’s got her hair and her eyes,” Milt said. “The shape of them." 

Russ spun in his chair, narrowly missing a kick to Milt’s shoes. “Not you too.”

Milt turned to Font. “Are they related?”

Jacocks called across the room, “I checked. Nope.”

Milt raised a brow. Checking in like that wasn’t… well, he wasn’t going to say anything if it resulted in that tidbit.

“Fuck off, Jacocks,” Russ called back, still spinning in his chair, and Milt got the completely unrelated impression of an overgrown cat displeased by its owner’s inability to speak cat. 

“I love you too, Agnew,” Jacocks shot back. 

Milt shook his head. God, this was silly. He never fathered a kid and Holly was far too young to be the mother of this one. Uncanny resemblances aside, this was just a coincidence, no matter what Russ said about coincidences.

Russ swiveled back to turn to Font, a finger pointed at his partner. “I still say he looks like Milt.”

“Huh…” Font tilted his head, peering at the sharp shoulders. “I kind of see it.”

* * *

The next day, Milt drifted over to the precinct coffee machine, which seemed to be making something other than death sludge if the way Russ seemed to be having an orgasm over a cup of it was any indication. Trying not to crowd the intern, he placed his FBI mug on the table, waiting for the brew cycle to finish. 

“What’s your name?” 

The intern turned, hand extended. “James.”

Milt’s glance gave him a more casual hoodie and green-grey-brown eyes. Eyes that looked a little like Milt’s, to be honest. The name was simple, almost too basic. 

Milt smiled.

“James…” He trailed off.

James smiled, following his lead easily. “James Buchanan Winters.”

Was that? Milt tilted his head to one side, letting a slightly perplexed expression fall over his features. “Like Bucky Barnes?”

The kid broke into a huge grin. “Yeah. Pops was a huge fan.”

Milt raised an eyebrow. A teenage ex-patriot turned brainwashed Russian assassin with a metal arm. His parents made an interesting decision. “Not Captain America?”

James crinkled his nose. “Nah.” 

Milt leaned his weight on one leg, casual pose. “How about you?”

James shrugged, sweater dulling the movement to a small shake. “Not really a comic book man.”

“Mom?” Milt asked. No woman he knew would let their kid become a walking Marvel comics reference. James Buchanan (Barnes) Winters (Soldier). Seriously. Some pity for the kid.

James shook his head. “Nah. Dad loved Cap.”

Milt couldn’t stop the slight tone in his voice. “Two fathers?”

James’ smile tensed, less genuine, more like a dog being told not to bite. “Yeah.”

Milt nodded. “Sorry.”

Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t met a homosexual in Battle Creek, or at least anyone he knew of to be homosexual. That was… unsettling. It wasn’t like there weren’t homosexual persons in Battle Creek. There had to be, statistically speaking. They weren’t on some tv channel that refused to air homosexual persons or anything like that. This was real life after all.

James smiled. “Forgiven.”

Milt smiled, shifting his weight. “So what did they think of the movies?”

The slight smile on Jim’s face bloomed. “Pops loves them, but Dad refused to see them.”

“Refused?” Milt asked. What kind of father who allowed his kid to be named “James Buchanan Winters” didn’t watch the Marvel movies?

James grabbed the pot, pouring Milt a generous cup of coffee. “Flat out refused. He’s a comic book purist.”

Milt took the cup, adding a packet of sugar and stirring. “Thank you, James.”

The intern snorted. “Call me Jim.” 

Jim poured coffee into his mug, a pattern blooming up the side in white.

Milt chuckled when he noticed, internally smacking himself for not noticing the boy’s hooded jacket, blue with a black shoulders and hood. The grip no the zipper was even a little star fleet symbol god damn it. “You’re a Star Trek guy."

Jim, preferably “Jim Kirk” Milt suspected, smirked. “Took you long enough.”

* * *

“Russ?” Milt sat on the corner of Russ’ desk, avoiding again the swing of the man’s feet. 

The detective glanced up, almost protectively cradling a cup of coffee, which Milt had to admit was pretty good. Not that it was better than the FBI stuff, but it was pretty good for precinct coffee. Who was he kidding? It was like Starbucks decided to move into the office. Hell, there were syrups and whipped cream canisters in the fridge. 

Russ frowned, taking a quick sip of his beverage, which smelled a little of sweet, creamy vanilla. “Yeah?”

Milt sipped his own coffee. Mirroring. That was supposed to make people like you more, right? Google and the FBI academy had agreed on this. 

Russ just looked thunderous, though the softness around the thunder made Milt wonder what would happen if Russ did get laid on a regular basis. Coffee orgasms were a softly thunderous Russ. Actual orgasms? Milt wanted that so badly. 

“Who is your favorite comic book character?”

Russ’s brows drew in and his face gave Milt what could be a patented look at this point. “Why?”

“James is named after one.”

Russ snorted. “What? Does the B stand for Buchanan or something like that?”

“Actually, yes.”

Milt would call that a coincidence, but Russ didn’t believe in coincidences. 

Russ appeared a little perplexed, sipping his coffee. 

* * *

Milt stared over the dash at the empty street. It was… empty. Sure, if he wanted to get all accurate about it, there were three pieces of litter, a small tumbleweed that kind of terrified him because it looked like it had a smiling creeper face, and exactly two dinged-up cars parked on the street. However, that was not relevant when the fact of the matter was there was no one not he street. No one. The streetlight was looking lonely at this point, though the tumbleweed looked perfectly happy to be alone and creepy.

Anything but the creepy tumble weed. Maybe think about home. Think about his mother. About Maria, his au pair. About his father.

“Russ.”

The detective roused from his meditative state, shifting ever so slightly, a small flicker of annoyance passing over his features. “What?”

“You said he looks like me.”

Russ snorted. “Is he yours?”

“I’m wondering now.” Not so much his as maybe his brother. HIs father was a globe trotting businessman. No real surprise if there were a few not quite legitimate Chamberlains running around the world at varying levels of wealth and health. His father had never been the kind to track down his bastards and have them seen to. He didn’t even do that for his legitimate sons, if Milt was going to be honest with himself.

Russ snorted, laughing. “You. Milt Chamberlain. You are the father of Jim wannabe Kirk?”

Milt pouted in a  very manly manner. “You know about that?”

“It was the first thing I noticed about him,” Russ said, slamming his hand on the dash, still laughing. “He uses a freaking ‘Searching for my Spock’ backpack for Christ’s sake!” 

“Russ.”

“What?”

“I need a DNA sample.” Because if he is my brother, I’m not letting him slum it.

The smile fell off Russ’s face. 

“No.”

“Why?”

Russ took a swig of good even when cold coffee. Sheer magic that coffeemaker was because a noise that went straight to Milt’s groin emitted from Russ at a volume that made Milt wonder if Russ was the screaming kind. “Because he’s not going to consent to it and as his superior officer, I’m not consenting to letting you run tests on him.”

“He’s an intern.”

“He’s an intern I hired.”

“You hired him.” Less question. More fact.

Russ raised a brow. “Contrary to popular opinion, I help people out sometimes.”

“Where did you find him?”

“He worked at Starbucks.”

“Starbucks,” Milt intoned. Right. So his possible brother was working at Starbucks before all this. If his father was still alive, he would strangle the man, especially because that man had been shit to people who worked at Starbucks. Some common decency for the people who juggled dozens of complex triple syrup, whipped, chipped, crunched and salted concoctions.

Russ’s grin went sideways, proud, fatherly almost. “You did not see that kid juggle ten orders with a smile on his face. He has a gift.”

“Is that why the coffee here tastes so good?”

Russ glanced over at Milt, conviction in his eyes. “He’s magic.”

“You never asked Holly to make coffee.”

“Holly never expressed an interest in making coffee.”

Milt rolled his eyes. “And Jim did?”

“Jim cried when he saw our machine and brought in his old one.” So maybe Milt would send the kid to culinary school or something, if he turned out to be an unofficial Chamberlain. Something that would make the kid happy.

“You’re using the boy,” Milt muttered.

Russ sniffed. “And he’s using us. Quid pro quo.”

“What’s he using us for?”

Russ grinned, pointing to the lone moving figure in the street. “Why don’t you try to figure it out, Agent?”

* * *

“Jim?"

The intern, this time with nerdy frames and a sweater vest that reminded Milt of tv show science clubs, looked up from where he sat. “Yeah?”

Milt flashed him the twenty watt. “Want to get lunch? As friends, of course.”

“Sure.” Jim spun around. “Russ. Wanna grab lunch?”

The detective looked up from another manila folder that had seen better days. Why were there so many of those? 

“What?”

Jim’s lopsided grin flashed brightly at Russ, almost mimicking the one Milt saw spill over Russ’ features last night. “Milt’s invited me to lunch. I’m inviting you.”

“Jim,” Milt warned. Well, more muttered. He’d sort-of had plans for this. Mostly family. Okay, all about family. Was this a case of adoption? Did Jim know his mother? Was there any chance that they actually did share a father?

Jim’s eyes widened almost comically, like Holly’s when she said something a little off beat. “Am I not allowed to do that?”

Milt backpedaled. “No, you’re allowed to…" 

Jim cut him off with conviction. “Russ has been sitting there all day looking over cold cases. He’s coming with us."

Russ raised a brow, no fight, just a little humor in his features, which was honestly kind of sexy in its own way. “Am I?”

Jim’s grin grew wider. “Yes, you are, dad.”

* * *

Russ glared at Milt.

“Give it.”

He wasn’t a bad dog.

“What?”

There was no reason to talk to Milt that way.

“Napkin.”

It was kind of sexy though.

“Russ.”

In a sort of rough and dirty way.

“Hand it over.”

It was a real turn on actually.

“Russ…”

But that didn’t mean he was going to give up his prize.

“Give it to me.” 

Milt handed it over. He was weak, damn it.

* * *

“I want you to run some tests on these two.”

Meredith raised her brows, taking the samples from him. One was a cup, paper, recently filled with coffee. The other was a napkin, some tomato stains on it.

She glanced over the baggies, pilfered evidence bags, the serial numbers scratched out with sharpie. “What kind?”

Russ’s palms started sweating. “Paternity.”

Just to be sure. Just to be sure that Milt wasn’t.

“Aww… your dad asking if you’re really his?” She smiled sympathetically.

Russ’s semi-grimace became a full on grimace. Wow. Thanks. That was hurtful. “Ha ha. Just do it.”

“No.”

“What do you want?" 

She smirked. “This." 

A searing pain blew up Russ’s leg and he doubled over.

“Fuck.”

Meredith looked down on him for a moment before taking the file and walking back to her desk. “That felt so good." 

* * *

“Russ.”

Milt wandered in at one point, which was less strange that it would seem because he appeared a lot. A great deal now that Russ actually gave that thought the time of day. 

Also, given the reason for the visits was sort of right there.

Russ blinked slowly, taking in the pressed suit and the slicked hair. Wow, shave fifteen years off and… “Case?”

Mild nodded “Yeah." 

The headed out the door to a cheery “Bye!”

* * *

Milt pressed the folder into his hands. “Meredith gave me the results.”

Russ stilled, his voice dropping into an almost subvocal rumble. “What?”

Milt’s eyes widened, almost terrified, but Russ knew better than to trust Mr. Butter-Wouldn’t-Melt. “I stopped by to bring her some donuts.”

“You bring her donuts?”

“And she asked me to bring this to you,” Milt continued. He paused.

Russ’s eyes narrowed, his irises flecks of sharp flint-like color on white.“You read it didn’t you?”

Hands up. Surrender. “I swear, I didn’t.”

“I don’t believe you.” Russ ripped open the top of the folder, pulling out the contents. “Oh my god." 

“What?” The fucking giant stepped in, looking down. A smile burst across his face. “Russ, that’s great news.”

“No. It isn’t.” Russ kicked the curb. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck that wasn’t supposed to happen. That wasn’t supposed to fucking happen ever. No. No. He refused. He fucking refused that fucking answer. No. Just fucking no. He breathed slowly. Calm. Calm. No, fuck that too. Fucking angelic fucker. Fucking Milt Chamberlain. Fucking considerate smile of understanding and human goodness. Fucking liar.

“Why? He’s your father.”

Russ waved the packet at Milt’s face, almost slamming it into his head. That was not the fucking point Milt. Not the fucking point. He stuffed the papers back in the pocket before storming off, thunderous mood trailing in his wake. 

“Shut up, Milt. Just shut up.” 

* * *

“Milt?” James peered around him, almost falling out of his chair. “Where’s Russ?”

“Soft” smile. “Happy for someone else” smile.

“I think he’s going to find his family.”

Jim blinked, his familiar eyes widening. “Why? His family’s right here.” 

* * *

Jim.

James Buchanan Winters.

James Buchanan Winters Chamberlain.

Son of Milton Chamberlain.

From something that happened when Milt was a teenager.

Oh god. There was a woman out there who had Milt’s baby twenty years ago.

Oh god, Milt had sex.

Russ shivered. That was an image he never needed in his head. Ever. Skin, perfect skin. No, a little marked up, just a few scars here and there, ones that didn’t detract from his perfection, rather adding to it, stories to tell. His perfect even if scarred skin moving along with his muscles as they lowered him over another body, one that was scarred to ugly, old and rough. 

Milt lowering himself over Russ, blocking out everything that wasn’t him.

Shit.

Milt who did that with a woman, a woman who gave birth to, who gave up, James Buchanan Winters, never letting his father know of the boy's existence. 

* * *

“Russ?”

Russ stirred from his fort of blankets and pillows. No beer. He wasn’t desperate enough to drink the Coors Lite Font left in his refrigerator. Not yet anyway.

“Who is it?”

“Jim.”

Russ paused. Fuck. How would he explain this? The kid wasn’t stupid. He probably noticed Milt’s not so subtle attempts to get to know him. Fuck.

Another knock, more insistent, sharper. He could imagine James on the other side, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Open up, Dad.”

Russ bundled himself into his blanket pile. Sweet sweet comfort in the form of two down comforters he stole from Milt. Sweet sweet justice and comfort. “Shouldn’t you be talking to your actual father?”

Jim’s tone went sarcastic, almost frustrated. “I am.”

“That’s not possible.”

“No. It isn’t.” A thump echoed through the door. “But, let’s just say compromises were made.”

“What do you mean?” Russ popped his head out of the blanket pile.

“You and Milt raised me. Rather, you will raise me, five years from now.”

Russ shook his head, not that there was anyone to see it. “Look, Jim…”

The door clicked open and Russ sighed. Fuck. That was impossible, no matter how much that seemed likevery Russ thing to do.

Jim eyed the take out containers on the table warily. “Dad. Have you eaten?”

“Yeah. I just.” He’d gotten that last night. Probably. Chang’s delivered at all hours so maybe it was this morning?

Jim turned and walked into the kitchen, opening cabinets and grabbing food things like he owned the place. “Lay down. I got you.”

“Jim.” Russ should have been worried about why the kid knew where everything was. He should have, but the ingredients Jim pulled out were achingly familiar and Russ would bet his life that it would taste that way too

Jim didn’t glance over his shoulder, but he did stand straighter. 

“I love you too, Dad. Don’t worry.”

* * *

“Loves?” Milt glanced over to where Russ was apparently drugged into a coma by their son. The son they named James Buchanan Winters, scratch that, James Buchanan Agnew-Chamberlain. What a fucking mouthful. 

“There are only two people in the world Dad really loves.” Jim glanced over to his father’s sleeping form. “You and Aunt Holly.”

“So…” He had an idea where this was going.

Jim winced, like it physically pained him to say, “When she offered to be my… birth mom, he asked you.”

“And I said yes?” Not exactly what he would say now, if he was being honest with himself and everyone around him.

“You said yes.” Implying that Milt had decided to stay in Battle Creek, instead of hightailing it out of that snow-globe worthy town like he wanted to. “In my time you two are married, living together and happy.”

Milt leaned back, settling into the wooden kitchen chair. “If that’s the case, then why are you here, Jim?”

“I’m studying quantum physics at M.I.T….”

Milt choked. “How did we pay for that?” Especially if he chose Battle Creek instead of Detroit, or New York, or Quantico.

Jim snorted, offended, definitely Russ’s. “Full ride. I am your son after all. I started looking into alternate universes and string theory.” He waved his hand. “There was an experiment and I volunteered. Here I am, twenty-five years in the past.”

“Why?”

Jim shrugged, an echo of Russ’ interactions with Guiz. “Because Dad told me that you were an ass and I had to see it for myself.”

“Judgement?” It mattered. A little. Okay, more than a little.

Jim winced, leaning in, and whispered, “You’re a bit of an ass.”

“A bit?” Milt whispered back.

“A bit,” James affirmed.

“I’m not trying hard enough.” Jim scoffed. Milt went on, “You can tell me all of this because?”

Jim shrugged again. “The whole point is that I cause a disturbance in the world somehow. For science. Don’t look at me like that. It’s for science. Besides, seeing as you two still don’t have your act together, I haven’t disappeared yet, and the comm lines are still open, I’m inclined to say that this is an alternate universe. 

Milt raised an eye brow. “So Russ and I won’t get together.”

“I don’t know, Pops. That really depends on you.” Jim glanced over at his father.

Dad. Jim called Russ “Dad”. Jim probably had memories of running around with Russ in their back yard, maybe watching baseball with him, probably doing science fair projects with Milt, maybe watching Milt cheer him on at Little League games after Russ was banned for cursing too much, because age and parenthood wouldn’t mellow out Russ Agnew one bit. 

Happy things. Sincerely happy things that he didn’t think would be his, ever.

“Jim.”

Jim shuffled in his seat, shifting ever so slightly in his black and silver jacket. “He will never make the first move.”

“He thinks I just take from people.” It’s weak but there is no other way to describe the way Russ speaks to him, looks at him, says those words that cut a little deeper than the others to him.

Jim paused before asking, “Have you ever considered that, maybe, he isn’t willing to give because he’s never met anyone willing to give to him?”

“Holly…”

“Dad and Aunt Holly never worked out because of that. They tried, but they both played their cards too close to their chests and neither was willing to change for the other. Neither knew how to read when to change.” An implied, and you know how hard it is to change, Pops. You know and I know why you’re here, went unsaid. 

Jim sighed. “Show him how you can make him happy.”

“Jim.” That was probably the weakest advice he had ever gotten. Ever. That included the time that sherpa told him to eat air. Wait.. not maybe that was the sherpa telling him to politely fuck off. Milt wasn’t sure.

Jim shrugged, the red star on his chest rising with the movement. “I’m sorry, Pops. I can’t say anything more.” 

* * *

“You’re going back to school?” Russ asked, shaking Jim’s hand.

“Yep. Back to Detroit.” M.I.T.

Milt smiled, taking his turn to shake Jim’s hand. “Will we see you next summer?” Soon?

“Maybe.” Jim had explained it. He was going home, to his time, and the chances of him coming back, landing in this particular timeline, were slim. 

“Maybe?” Russ asked, practically a “please”.

Jim burst into a grin. “I’m thinking about the FBI.”

“FBI?” Russ turned to Milt.

Milt tossed his hands up in mock surrender, chuckling. “I had nothing to do with that.”

“You take away our office manager?” The expression on Russ’s face “Son? To the FBI? Does not compute.” was worth the small cloud that was forming over Russ’s head.

Warm arms wrapped around him quickly and were gone just as fast. Their son smiled, bouncing on his heels.

“Bye!” Jim strolled out the door, leaving them with the faintest warmth of family.

“Really, Milt? Are you stooping so low?” No bite. A small smirk, wild and bright, meant only for him

Milt grinned. “Russ, it’s irrational to say that a talented kid…”

“Shut up, traitor.” Russ turned, headed away from the precinct.

“Russ.” He grabbed Russ’s arm, slowing he man down. “Russ, listen to me.”

Russ turned. His brow raised, a challenge. “What?”

Milt ventured, “Do you want to see the Captain America movie with me?”

“Civil War?” Russ asked, sounding for once like he was weighing his options.

Milt smiled. “Yes.”

“No.” The smirk dropped off Milt’s face.

Milt’s brows drew together. “Why not?”

Russ rolled his eyes, turning away. “That’s heresy. Movies. Absolute heresy.”

Russ strolled down the street, storm cloud trailing in his wake, leaving Milt to chase after him.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So, I have no explanation for this other than I am a shitty at characterization and I curse too much. Also, I'm avoiding my responsibilities, like editing podfic and studying. Yay!


End file.
